Behind the Masquerade
by maytesalvatore
Summary: Caroline Forbes never dreamed she'd be able to sneak into the Mikaelsons famed masquerade ball. Though the daughter of an earl, Caroline has been relegated to the role of servant by her disdainful stepmother. But her destiny will change when she met the handsome Niklaus Mikaelson (the love of her life). Will he accept her? Inspired in my favorite book "te doy mi corazón" de J.Q.
1. Chapter 1

Hello to all of you, this story is my favorite, it's inspired in my favorite book "Te doy mi corazón de Julia Q." so here it is…. KLAROLINE 100% awww and is a cinderella, hope you enjoy my edit.

.

* * *

**BEHIND THE MASQUERADE**

**XIX CENTURY**

.

**Prologue**

.

Everyone knew that Caroline Forbes _was a bastard._

The servants all knew it. But they loved little Care bear, had loved her since she'd arrived at Petrova Park at the age of three, a small bundle wrapped in a too-big coat, left on the doorstep on a rainy July night. And because they loved her, they pretended that she was exactly what the sixth Earl of Petrova said she was—the orphaned daughter of an old friend. Never mind that Caroline's moss green eyes and dark blond hair matched the earl's precisely. Never mind that the shape of her face looked remarkably like that of the earl's recently deceased mother, or that her smile was an exact replica of the earl's sister's. No one wanted to hurt Carolin's feelings—or risk their livelihoods—by pointing that out.

The earl, one Bill Petrova, never discussed Caroline or her origins, but he must have known she was his bastard. No one knew what had been in the letter the housekeeper had fished from Caroline's pocket when she'd been discovered that rainy midnight; the earl had burned the missive mere seconds after reading it. He'd watched the paper shrivel and curl in the flames, then ordered a room made up for Caroline near the nursery. She'd remained there ever since. He called her Carolina, and she called him "my lord," and they saw each other a few times a year, whenever the earl returned home from London, which wasn't very often.

But perhaps most importantly, Caroline knew she was a bastard. She wasn't entirely certain how she knew it, just that she did, and probably had her entire life. She had few memories of her life before her arrival at Petrova Park, but she could remember a long coach journey across England, and she could remember her grandmother, coughing and wheezing and looking terribly thin, telling her she was going to live with her father. And most of all, she could remember standing on the doorstep in the rain, knowing that her grandmother was hiding in the bushes, waiting to see if Caroline was taken inside.

The earl had touched his fingers to the little girl's chin, tipped her face up to the light, and in that moment they both knew the truth.

Everyone knew Caroline was a bastard, and no one talked about it, and they were all quite happy with this arrangement.

Until the earl decided to marry.

Caroline had been quite pleased when she'd heard the news. The housekeeper had said that the butler had said that the earl's secretary had said that the earl planned to spend more time at Petrova Park now that he would be a family man. And while Caroline didn't exactly miss the earl when he was gone—it was hard to miss someone who didn't pay her much attention even when he was there—she rather thought she might miss him if she got to know him better, and if she got to know him better, maybe he wouldn't go away so often. Plus, the upstairs maid had said that the housekeeper had said that the neighbors' butler had said that the earl's intended wife already had two daughters, and they were near in age to Caroline.

After seven years alone in the nursery, Caroline was delighted. Unlike the other children in the district, she was never invited to local parties and events. No one actually came out and called her a bastard—to do so was tantamount to calling the earl, who had made one declaration that Caroline was his ward and then never revisited the subject, a liar.

But at the same time, the earl never made any great attempt to force Caroline's acceptance. And so at the age of ten, Caroline's best friends were maids and footmen, and her parents might as well have been the housekeeper and butler.

But now she was getting sisters for real.

Oh, she knew she could not call them her sisters. She knew that she would be introduced as Caroline Maria Forbes, the earl's ward, but they would feel like sisters. And that was what really mattered.

And so, one February afternoon, Caroline found herself waiting in the great hall along with the assembled servants, watching out the window for the earl's carriage to pull up the drive, carrying in it the new countess and her two daughters. And, of course, the earl.

"Do you think she'll like me?" Caroline whispered to Mrs. Jenna Sommers , the housekeeper. "The earl's wife, I mean."

"Of course she'll like you, dearling," Mrs. Sommers whispered back. But her eyes hadn't been as certain as her tone. The new countess might not take kindly to the presence of her husband's by- blow.

"And I'll take lessons with her daughters?"

"No point in having you take your lessons separately."

Caroline nodded thoughtfully, then started to squirm when she saw the carriage rolling up the drive.

"They're here!" she whispered.

Mrs. Sommers reached out to pat her on the head, but Caroline had already dashed off to the window, practically pressing her face up to the glass.

The earl stepped down first, then reached in and helped down two young girls. They were dressed in matching black coats. One wore a pink ribbon in her hair; the other yellow. Then, as the two girls stepped aside, the earl reached up to help one last person from the carriage.

Caroline's breath caught in her throat as she waited for the new countess to emerge. Her little fingers crossed and a single, "Please," whispered over her let her love me.

Maybe if the countess loved her, then the earl would love her as well, and maybe, even if he didn't actually call her daughter, he'd treat her as one, and they'd be a family truly.

As Caroline watched through the window, the new countess stepped down from the carriage, her every movement so graceful and pure that Caroline was reminded of the delicate lark that occasionally came to splash in the birdbath in the garden. Even the countess's hat was adorned by a long feather, its turquoise plume glittering in the hard winter sun.

"She's beautiful," Caroline whispered. She darted a quick look back at Mrs. Sommers to gauge her reaction, but the housekeeper was standing at strict attention, eyes straight ahead, waiting for the earl to bring his new family inside for introductions.

Caroline gulped, not exactly certain where she was meant to stand. Everyone else seemed to have a designated place. The servants were lined up according to rank, from the butler right down to the lowliest scullery maid. Even the dogs were sitting dutifully in the corner, their leads held tight by the Keeper of the Hounds.

But Caroline was rootless. If she were truly the daughter of the house, she'd be standing with her governess, awaiting the new countess. If she were truly the earl's ward, she'd be in much the same place. But Miss Young had caught a head cold and refused to leave the nursery and come downstairs. None of the servants believed for a second that the governess was truly ill. She'd been fine the night before, but no one blamed her for the deception. Caroline was, after all, the earl's bastard, and no one wanted to be the one to offer potential insult to the new countess by introducing her to her husband's by-blow.

And the countess would have to be blind, stupid, or both not to realize in an instant that Caroline was something more than the earl's ward.

Suddenly overcome with shyness, Caroline shrank into a corner as two footmen threw open the front doors with a flourish. The two girls entered first, then stepped to the side as the earl led the countess in. The earl introduced the countess and her daughters to the butler, and the butler introduced them to the servants.

And Caroline waited.

The butler presented the footmen, the chef, the housekeeper, the grooms.

And Caroline waited.

He presented the kitchen maids, the upstairs maids, the scullery maids.

And Caroline waited.

And then finally the butler—Rumsey was his name— presented the lowliest of the lowest of maids, a scullery girl named Dulcie who had been hired a mere week earlier. The earl nodded and murmured his thanks, and Caroline was still waiting, completely unsure of what to do.

So she cleared her throat and stepped forward, a nervous smile on her face. She didn't spend much time with the earl, but she was trotted out before him whenever he visited Petrova Park, and he always gave her a few minutes of his time, asking about her lessons before shooing her back up to the nursery.

Surely he'd still want to know how her studies were progressing, even now that he'd married. Surely he'd want to know that she'd mastered the science of multiplying fractions, and that Miss Young had recently declared her French accent, "perfection."

But he was busy saying something to the countess's daughters, and he didn't hear her. Caroline cleared her throat again, this time more loudly, and said, "My lord?" in a voice that came out a bit more squeaky than she'd intended.

The earl turned around. "Ah, Carolina," he murmured, "I didn't realize you were in the hall." Caroline beamed. He hadn't been ignoring her, after all.

"And who might this be?" the countess asked, stepping forward to get a better look.

"My ward," the earl replied. "Miss Caroline Forbes."

The countess speared Caroline with an assessing look, then her eyes narrowed.

And narrowed.

And narrowed some more.

"I see," she said.

And everyone in the room knew instantly that she did see.

"Camille," the countess said, turning to her two girls, "Elena, come with me."

The girls moved immediately to their mother's side. Caroline hazarded a smile in their direction. The smaller one, Elena smiled back, but the older one Camille, whose hair was the color of spun gold, took her cue from her mother, pointed her nose in the air, and looked firmly away.

Caroline gulped and smiled again at the friendly girl, but this time the little girl chewed on her lower lip in indecision, then cast her eyes toward the floor.

The countess turned her back on Caroline and said to the earl, "I assume you have had rooms prepared for Camille and Elena."

He nodded. "Near the nursery. Right next to Caroline."

There was a long silence, and then the countess must have decided that certain battles should not be conducted before the servants, because all she said was, "I would like to go upstairs now."

And she left, taking the earl and her daughters along with her.

Caroline watched the new family walk up the stairs, and then, as they disappeared onto the landing, she turned to Mrs. Jenna Sommers and asked, "Do you think I should go up to help? I could show the girls the nursery."

Mrs. Sommers shook her head. "They looked tired," she lied. "I'm sure they'll be needing a nap." Caroline frowned. She'd been told that Camille was eleven and Elena was ten. Surely that was a bit old for taking naps.

Mrs. Sommers patted her on the back.

"Why don't you come with me? I could use a bit of company, and Cook told me that she just made a fresh batch of shortbread. I think it's still warm."

Caroline nodded and followed her out of the hall. She'd have plenty of time that evening to get to know the two girls. She'd show them the nursery, and then they'd become friends, and before long they'd be as sisters.

Caroline smiled. It would be glorious to have sisters.

As it happened Caroline did not encounter Camille and Elena — or the earl and countess, for that matter — until the next day. When Caroline entered the nursery to take her supper, she noticed that the table had been set for two, not four, and Miss April Young (who had miraculously recovered from her ailment) said that the new countess had told her that Camille and Elena were too tired from their travels to eat that evening.

But the girls had to have their lessons, and so the next morning they arrived in the nursery, trailing the countess by one step each. Caroline had been working at her lessons for an hour already, and she looked up from her arithmetic with great interest. She didn't smile at the girls this time. Somehow it seemed best not to.

"Miss Young," the countess said.

Miss Young bobbed a curtsy, murmuring, "My lady." "The earl tells me you will teach my daughters."

"I will do my best, my lady."

The countess motioned to the older girl, the one with golden hair and cornflower eyes. She looked, Camille thought, as pretty as the porcelain doll the earl had sent up from London for her seventh birthday.

"This," the countess said, "is Camille. She is eleven. And this"—she then motioned to the other girl, who had not taken her eyes off of her shoes—"is Elena. She is ten."

Caroline looked at Elena with great interest. Unlike her mother and sister, her hair and eyes were quite dark, and her cheeks were a bit pudgy.

"Caroline is also ten," Miss Young replied.

The countess's lips thinned. "I would like you to show the girls around the house and garden." Miss Young nodded. "Very well. Caroline, put your slate down. We can return to arithmetic—"

"Just my girls," the countess interrupted, her voice somehow hot and cold at the same time. "I will speak with Caroline alone."

Caroline gulped and tried to bring her eyes to the countess's, but she only made it as far as her chin. As Miss Young ushered Camille and Elena out of the room she stood up, awaiting further direction from her father's new wife.

"I know who you are," the countess said the moment the door clicked shut.

"M-my lady?"

"You're his bastard, and don't try to deny it."

Caroline said nothing. It was the truth, of course, but no one had ever said it aloud. At least not to her face.

The countess grabbed her chin and squeezed and pulled until Caroline was forced to look her in the eye. "You listen to me," she said in a menacing voice. "You might live here at Petrova Park, and you might share lessons with my daughters, but you are nothing but a bastard, and that is all you will ever be. Don't you ever, ever make the mistake of thinking you are as good as the rest of us."

Caroline let out a little moan. The countess's fingernails were biting into the underside of her chin.

"My husband," the countess continued, "feels some sort of misguided duty to you. It's admirable of him to see to his mistakes, but it is an insult to me to have you in my home—fed, clothed, and educated as if you were his real daughter."

But she was his real daughter. And it had been her home much longer than the countess's.

Abruptly, the countess let go of her chin. "I don't want to see you," she hissed. "You are never to speak to me, and you shall endeavor never to be in my company. Furthermore, you are not to speak to Camille and Elena except during lessons. They are the daughters of the house now, and should not have to associate with the likes of you. Do you have any questions?"

Caroline shook her head.

"Good."

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving Caroline with wobbly legs and a quivering lip.

And an awful lot of tears.

.

.

.

In time, Caroline learned a bit more about her precarious position in the house. The servants always knew everything, and it all reached Caroline's ears eventually.

The countess, whose given name was Carol, had insisted that very first day that Caroline must be removed from the house. The earl had refused. Carol didn't have to love Caroline, he'd said coolly. She didn't even have to like her. But she had to put up with her. He had owned up to his responsibility to the girl for seven years, and he wasn't going to stop now.

Camille and Elena took their cues from Carol and treated Caroline with hostility and disdain, although Elena's heart clearly wasn't into torture and cruelty in the way Camille's was. Camille liked nothing better than to pinch and twist the skin on the back of Caroline's hand when Miss Young wasn't looking. Caroline never said anything; she rather doubted that Miss Young would have the courage to reprimand Camille (who would surely run to Carol with a false tale), and if anyone noticed that Caroline's hands were perpetually black-and-blue, no one ever said so.

Elena showed her the occasional kindness, although more often than not she just sighed, and said, "My mummy says I'm not to be nice to you."

As for the earl, he never intervened.

Caroline's life continued in this vein for four years, until the earl surprised everyone by clutching his hand to his chest while taking tea in the rose garden, letting out one ragged gasp, and falling face first to the stone cobbles.

He never regained consciousness.

Everyone was quite shocked. The earl was only forty years old. Who could have known that his heart would give out at such a young age? No one was more stunned than Carol, who had been trying quite desperately since her wedding night to conceive the all-important heir.

"I might be with child!" she hastened to tell the earl's solicitors. "You can't give the title over to some distant cousin. I could very well be with child."

But she wasn't with child, and when the earl's will was read one month later (the solicitors had wanted to be sure to give the countess enough time to know for sure if she was pregnant) Carol was forced to sit next to the new earl, a rather dissolute young man who was more often drunk than not.

Most of the earl's wishes were standard fare. He left bequests to loyal servants. He settled funds on Camille, Elena, and even Caroline, ensuring that all three girls would have respectable dowries.

And then the solicitor reached Carol's name.

To my wife, Carol Petrova, Countess of Petrova, I leave a yearly income of two thousand pounds—

"That's all?" Carol cried out.

—unless she agrees to shelter and care for my ward, Miss Caroline Maria Forbes, until the latter reaches the age of twenty, in which case her yearly income shall be trebled to six thousand pounds.

"I don't want her," Carol whispered.

"You don't have to take her," the solicitor reminded her. "You can—"

"Live on a measly two thousand a year?" she snapped. "I don't think so."

The solicitor, who lived on considerably less than two thousand a year, said nothing. The new earl, who'd been drinking steadily throughout the meeting, just shrugged. Carol stood.

"What is your decision?" the solicitor asked.

"I'll take her," she said in a low voice.

"Shall I find the girl and tell her?"

Carol shook her head. "I'll tell her myself."

But when Carol found Caroline, she left out a few important facts...

and now...

**Chapter 1**

_This year's most sought-after invitation must surely be that of the Mikaelson's masquerade ball, to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what._

_Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Mikaelson's brothers, Niklaus and Kol. (Before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Mikaelson brother, let This Author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Henryc Mikaelson. He is, however, fourteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as This Author's columns often do, that most sacred of sports: husband-hunting.)_

_Although the Misters Mikaelsons are just that—merely Misters—they are still considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are possessed of respectable fortunes, and it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do all eight of the Mikaelsons offspring, the Mikaelsons good looks._

_Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of a masquerade night to snare one of the eligible bachelors?_

_This Author isn't even going to attempt to speculate._

_LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 MAY 1815_

"Caroline! Carolineeeeeeeeeeee!"

As screeches went, it was enough to shatter glass. Or at least an eardrum.

"Coming, Camille! I'm coming!" Caroline hitched up the hem of her coarse woolen skirts and hurried up the stairs, slipping on the fourth step and only just barely managing to grab the banister before landing on her bottom. She should have remembered that the stairs would be slick; she'd helped the downstairs maid wax them just that morning.

Skidding to a halt in the doorway to Camille's bedroom and still catching her breath, Caroline said, "Yes?"

"My tea is cold."

What Caroline wanted to say was, "It was warm when I brought it an hour ago, you lazy fiend." What she did say was, "I'll get you another pot."

Camille sniffed. "See that you do."

Caroline stretched her lips into what the nearly blind might call a smile and picked up the tea service. "Shall I leave the biscuits?" she asked.

Camille gave her pretty head a shake. "I want fresh ones."

Shoulders slightly stooped from the weight of the overloaded tea service, Caroline exited the room, careful not to start grumbling until she'd safely reached the hall. Camille was forever ordering tea, then not bothering to drink it until an hour passed. By then, of course, it was cold, so she had to order a fresh pot.

Which meant Caroline was forever running up and down the stairs, up and down, up and down.

Sometimes it seemed that was all she did with her life.

Up and down, up and down.

And of course the mending, the pressing, the hairdressing, the shoe polishing, the darning, the bed making...

"Caroline!" Caroline turned around to see Elena heading toward her.

"Caroline, I've been meaning to ask you, do you think this color is becoming on me?"

Caroline assessed Elena's mermaid costume. The cut wasn't quite right for Elena, who had never lost all of her baby fat, but the color did indeed bring out the best in her complexion. "It is a lovely shade of green," Caroline replied quite honestly. "It makes your cheeks very rosy."

"Oh, good. I'm so glad you like it. You do have such a knack for picking out my clothing." Elena smiled as she reached out and plucked a sugared biscuit from the tray. "Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball, and I know I shall never hear the end of it if I do not look my best. Or"—Elena's face twisted into a grimace—"if she thinks I do not look my best. She is determined that one of us snare one of the remaining Mikaelsons brothers, you know."

"I know."

"And to make matters worse, that Whistledown woman has been writing about them again. It only"—Elena finished chewing and paused while she swallowed—"whets her appetite."

"Was the column very good this morning?" Caroline asked, shifting the tray to rest on her hip. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet."

"Oh, the usual stuff," Elena said with a wave of her hand. "Really, it can be quite humdrum, you know."

Caroline tried to smile and failed. She'd like nothing more than to live a day of Elena's humdrum life. Well, perhaps she wouldn't want Carol for a mother, but she wouldn't mind a life of parties, routs, and musicales.

"Let's see," Elena mused. "There was a review of Lady Worth's recent ball, a bit about Viscount Guelph, who seems rather smitten with some girl from Scotland, and then a longish piece on the upcoming Mikaelsons masquerade."

Caroline sighed. She'd been reading about the upcoming masquerade for weeks, and even though she was nothing but a lady's maid (and occasionally a housemaid as well, whenever Carol decided she wasn't working hard enough) she couldn't help but wish that she could attend the ball.

"I for one will be thrilled if that Guelph viscount gets himself engaged," Elena remarked, reaching for another biscuit. "It will mean one fewer bachelor for Mother to go on and on about as a potential husband. It's not as if I have any hope of attracting his attention anyway." She took a bite of the biscuit; it crunched loudly in her mouth. "I do hope Lady Whistledown is right about him."

"She probably is," Caroline answered. She had been reading Lady Whistledown's Society Papers since it had debuted in 1813, and the gossip columnist was almost always correct when it came to matters of the Marriage Mart.

Not, of course, that Caroline had ever had the chance to see the Marriage Mart for herself. But if one read Whistledown often enough, one could almost feel a part of London Society without actually attending any balls.

In fact, reading Whistledown was really Caroline's one true enjoyable pastime. She'd already read all of the novels in the library, and as neither Carol, Camille, nor Elena was particularly enamored of reading, Caroline couldn't look forward to a new book entering the house.

But Whistledown was great fun. No one actually knew the columnist's true identity. When the single-sheet newspaper had debuted two years earlier, speculation had been rampant. Even now, whenever Lady Whistledown reported a particularly juicy bit of gossip, people starting talking and guessing anew, wondering who on earth was able to report with such speed and accuracy.

And for Caroline, Whistledown was a tantalizing glimpse into the world that might have been hers, had her parents actually made their union legal. She would have been an earl's daughter, not an earl's bastard; her name Petrova instead of Forbes.

Just once, she'd like to be the one stepping into the coach and attending the ball.

Instead, she was the one dressing others for their nights on the town, cinching Elena's corset or dressing Camille's hair or polishing a pair of Carol's shoes.

But she could not—or at least should not—complain. She might have to serve as maid to Carol and her daughters, but at least she had a home. Which was more than most girls in her position had.

When her father had died, he'd left her nothing. Well, nothing but a roof over her head. His will had ensured that she could not be turned out until she was twenty. There was no way that Carol would forfeit four thousand pounds a year by giving Caroline the boot.

But that four thousand pounds was Carol's, not Carolines's, and Caroline hadn't ever seen a penny of it. Gone were the fine clothes she'd used to wear, replaced by the coarse wool of the servants. And she ate what the rest of the maids ate—whatever Carol, Camille and Elena chose to leave behind.

Caroline's twentieth birthday, however, had come and gone almost a year earlier, and here she was, still living at Petrova House, still waiting on Carol hand and foot. For some unknown reason—probably because she didn't want to train (or pay) a new maid—Carol had allowed Caroline to remain in her household.

And Caroline had stayed. If Carol was the devil she knew, then the rest of the world was the devil she didn't. And Caroline had no idea which would be worse.

"Isn't that tray getting heavy?"

Caroline blinked her way out of her reverie and focused on Elena, who was reaching for the last biscuit on the tray. Drat. She'd been hoping to snitch it for herself. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, it is quite. I should really be getting to the kitchen with it."

Elena smiled. "I won't keep you any longer, but when you're done with that, could you press my pink gown? I'm going to wear it tonight. Oh, and I suppose the matching shoes should be readied as well. I got a bit of dirt on them last time I wore them, and you know how Mother is about shoes. Never mind that you can't even see them under my skirt. She'll notice the tiniest speck of dirt the instant I lift my hem to climb a step."

Carolinee nodded, mentally adding Elena's requests to her daily list of chores.

"I'll see you later, then!" Biting down on that last biscuit, Elena turned and disappeared into her bedchamber. And Caroline trudged down to the kitchen.

...

A few days later, Caroline was on her knees, pins clamped between her teeth as she made last- minute alterations on Carol's masquerade costume. The Queen Elizabeth gown had, of course, been delivered from the dressmaker as a perfect fit, but ACarol insisted that it was now a quarter inch too large in the waist.

"How is that?" Caroline asked, speaking through her teeth so the pins wouldn't fall. "Too tight." Caroline adjusted a few pins. "What about that?"

"Too loose."

Caroline rolled her eyes and pulled out a pin and stuck it back in precisely the same spot. "There. How does that feel?" Carol twisted this way and that, then finally declared, "It'll do."

Caroline smiled to herself as she stood to help Carol out of the gown.

"I'll need it done in an hour if we're to get to the ball on time," Carol said.

"Of course," Caroline murmured. She'd found it easiest just to say "of course" on a regular basis in conversations with Carol.

"This ball is very important," Carol said sharply. "Camille must make an advantageous match this year. The new earl—" She shuddered with distaste; she still considered the new earl an interloper, never mind that he was the old earl's closest living male relative. "Well, he has told me that this is the last year we may use Petrova's House in London. The nerve of the man. I am the dowager countess, after all, and Camille and Elena are the earl's daughters."

_Stepdaughters_, Caroline silently corrected.

"We have every right to use Petrova's House for the season. What he plans to do with the house, I'll never know."

"Perhaps he wishes to attend the season and look for a wife," Caroline suggested. "He'll be wanting an heir, I'm sure."

Carolscowled. "If Camille doesn't marry into money, I don't know what we'll do. It is so difficult to find a proper house to rent. And so expensive as well."

Caroline forbore to point out that at least Carol didn't have to pay for a lady's maid. In fact, until Caroline had turned twenty, she'd received four thousand pounds per year, just for having a lady's maid.

Carol snapped her fingers. "Don't forget that Camille will need her hair powdered." Camille was attending dressed as Marie Antoinette. Caroline had asked if she was planning to put a ring of faux blood around her neck. Camille had not been amused.

Carol pulled on her dressing gown, cinching the sash with swift, tight movements. "And Elena—" Her nose wrinkled. "Well, Elena will need your help in some manner or other, I'm sure."

"I'm always glad to help Elena," Caroline replied.

Carol narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out if Caroline was being insolent. "Just see that you do," she finally said, her syllables clipped. She stalked off to the washroom.

Caroline saluted as the door closed behind her.

"Ah, there you are, Caroline," Camille said as she bustled into the room. "I need your help immediately."

"I'm afraid it'll have to wait until—"

"I said immediately!" Camille snapped.

Caroline squared her shoulders and gave Camille a steely look. "Your mother wants me to alter her gown."

"Just pull the pins out and tell her you pulled it in. She'll never notice the difference."

Caroline had been considering the very same thing, and she groaned. If she did as Camille asked, Camille would tattle on her the very next day, and then Carol would rant and rage for a week. Now she would definitely have to do the alteration.

"What do you need, Camille?"

"There is a tear at the hem of my costume. I have no idea how it happened."

"Perhaps when you tried it on—"

"Don't be impertinent!"

Caroline clamped her mouth shut. It was far more difficult to take orders from Camille than from Carol, probably because they'd once been equals, sharing the same schoolroom and governess.

"It must be repaired immediately," Camille said with an affected sniff.

Caroline sighed. "Just bring it in. I'll do it right after I finish with your mother's. I promise you'll have it in plenty of time."

"I won't be late for this ball," Camille warned. "If I am, I shall have your head on a platter."

"You won't be late," Caroline promised.

Camille made a rather huffy sound, then hurried out the door to retrieve her costume.

"Ooof!"

Caroline looked up to see Camille crashing into Elena, who was barreling through the door.

"Watch where you're going, Elena!" Camille snapped.

"You could watch where you're going, too," Elena pointed out.

"I was watching. It's impossible to get out of your way, you big oaf." Elena's cheeks stained red, and she stepped aside.

"Did you need something, Elena?" Caroline asked, as soon as Camille had disappeared.

Elena nodded. "Could you set aside a little extra time to dress my hair tonight? I found some green ribbons that look a little like seaweed."

Caroline let out a long breath. The dark green ribbons weren't likely to show up very well against Elena's dark hair, but she didn't have the heart to point that out. "I'll try, Elena, but I have to mend Camille's dress and alter your mother's."

"Oh." Elena looked crestfallen. It nearly broke Caroline's heart. Elena was the only person who was even halfway nice to her in Carol's household, save for the servants. "Don't worry," she assured her. "I'll make sure your hair is lovely no matter how much time we have."

"Oh, thank you, Caroline! I—"

"Haven't you gotten started on my gown yet?" Carol thundered as she returned from the washroom.

Caroline gulped. "I was talking with Camille and Elena. Camille tore her gown and—"

"Just get to work!" Carol spat.

"I will. Immediately." Caroline plopped down on the settee and turned the gown inside out so that she could take in the waist. "Faster than immediately," she muttered. "Faster than a hummingbird's wings. Faster than—"

"What are you chattering about?" Carol demanded.

"Nothing."

"Well, cease your prattle immediately. I find the sound of your voice particularly grating." Caroline ground her teeth together.

"Mama," Elena said, "Elena is going to dress my hair tonight like—"

"Of course she's going to dress your hair. Quit your dillydallying this minute and go put compresses on your eyes so they don't look so puffy."

Elena's face fell. "My eyes are puffy?"

Caroline shook her head on the off chance that Elena decided to look down at her.

"Your eyes are always puffy," Carol replied. "Don't you think so, Camille?"

Elena and Caroline both turned toward the door. Camille had just entered, carrying her Marie Antoinette gown. "Always," she agreed. "But a compress will help, I'm sure."

"You look stunning tonight," Carol told her older daughter. "And you haven't even started getting ready. That gold in your gown is an exquisite match to your hair."

Caroline shot a sympathetic look at the dark-haired Elena, who never received such compliments from her mother.

"You shall snare one of those Mikaelsons brothers," Carol continued. "I'm sure of it."

Camille looked down demurely. It was an expression she'd perfected, and Caroline had to admit it looked lovely on her. But then again, most everything looked lovely on Camille. Her golden hair and blue eyes were all the rage that year, and thanks to the generous dowry settled upon her by the late earl, it was widely assumed that she would make a brilliant match before the season was through.

Caroline glanced back over at Elena, who was staring at her mother with a sad, wistful expression.

"You look lovely, too, Elena," Caroline said impulsively.

Elena's eyes lit up. "Do you think so?"

"Absolutely. And your gown is terribly original. I'm sure there won't be any other mermaids."

"How would you know, Caroline?" Camille asked with a laugh. "It's not as if you've ever been out in society."

"I'm sure you'll have a lovely time, Elena," Caroline said pointedly, ignoring Camille's jibe. "I'm terribly jealous. I do wish I could go."

Caroline's little sigh and wish was met with absolute silence ... followed by the raucous laughter of both Carol and Camille. Even Elena giggled a bit.

"Oh, that's rich," Carol said, barely able to catch her breath. "Little Caroline at the Mikaelsons ball. They don't allow bastards out in society, you know."

"I didn't say I expected to go," Caroline said defensively, "just that I wish I could."

"Well, you shouldn't even bother doing that," Camille chimed in. "If you wish for things you can't possibly hope for, you're only going to be disappointed."

But Caroline didn't hear what she had to say, because in that moment, the oddest thing happened. As she was turning her head toward Camille, she caught sight of the housekeeper standing in the doorway. It was Mrs. Jenna Sommers, who had come up from Petrova's Park in the country when the town housekeeper had passed away. And when Caroline's eyes met hers, she winked.

Winked!

Caroline didn't think she'd ever seen Mrs. Sommers wink.

"Caroline! CAROLINE! Are you listening to me?"

Caroline turned a distracted eye toward Carol. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "You were saying?"

"I was saying," Carol said in a nasty voice, "that you had better get to work on my gown this instant. If we are late for the ball, you will answer for it tomorrow."

"Yes, of course," Caroline said quickly. She jabbed her needle into the fabric and started sewing but her mind was still on Mrs. Sommers.

_**A wink?**_

Why on earth would she wink?

Three hours later, Caroline was standing on the front steps of Petrova House, watching first Carol, then Camille, then Elena each take the footman's hand and climb up into the carriage. Caroline waved at Elena, who waved back, then watched the carriage roll down the street and disappear around the corner. It was barely six blocks to Mikaelsons House, where the masquerade was to be held, but Carol would have insisted upon the carriage if they'd lived right next door.

It was important to make a grand entrance, after all.

With a sigh, Caroline turned around and made her way back up the steps. At least Carol had, in the excitement of the moment, forgotten to leave her with a list of tasks to complete while she was gone. A free evening was a luxury indeed. Perhaps she'd reread a novel. Or maybe she could find today's edition of Whistledown. She'd thought she'd seen Camille take it into her room earlier that afternoon.

But as Caroline stepped through the front door of Petrova House, Mrs. Jenna Sommers materialized as if from nowhere and grabbed her arm. "There's no time to lose!" the housekeeper said.

Caroline looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Sommers tugged at her elbow. "Come with me."

Caroline allowed herself to be led up the three flights of stairs to her room, a tiny little chamber tucked under the eaves. Mrs. Sommers was acting in a most peculiar manner, but Caroline humored her and followed along. The housekeeper had always treated her with exceptional kindness, even when it was clear that Carol disapproved.

"You'll need to get undressed," Mrs. Sommers said as she grasped the doorknob.

"What?"

"We really must rush."

"Mrs. Sommers, you..." Caroline's mouth fell open, and her words trailed off as she took in the scene in her bedroom. A steaming tub of water lay right in the center, and all three housemaids were bustling about. One was pouring a pitcher of water into the tub, another was fiddling with the lock on a rather mysterious-looking trunk, and the third was holding a towel and saying, "Hurry! Hurry!"

Caroline cast bewildered eyes at the lot of them. "What is going on?"

Mrs. Sommers turned to her and beamed. "You, Miss Caroline Maria Forbes, are going to the masquerade!"

One hour later, Caroline was transformed. The trunk had held dresses belonging to the late earl's mother. They were all fifty years out of date, but that was no matter. The ball was a masquerade; no one expected the gowns to be of the latest styles.

At the very bottom of the trunk they'd found an exquisite creation of shimmering silver, with a tight, pearl-encrusted bodice and the flared skirts that had been so popular during the previous century. Caroline felt like a princess just touching it. It was a bit musty from its years in the trunk, and one of the maids quickly took it outside to dab a bit of rosewater on the fabric and air it out.

She'd been bathed and perfumed, her hair had been dressed, and one of the housemaids had even applied a touch of rouge to her lips. "Don't tell Miss Camille," the maid had whispered. "I nicked it from her collection."

"Ooooh, look," Mrs. Sommers said. "I found matching gloves."

Caroline looked up to see the housekeeper holding up a pair of long, elbow-length gloves. "Look," she said, taking one from Mrs. Sommers and examining it. "The Petrova crest. And it's monogrammed. Right at the hem."

Mrs. Sommers turned over the one in her hand. "SLG. Sarah Louisa Petrova. Your grandmother."

Caroline looked at her in surprise. Mrs. Sommers had never referred to the earl as her father. No one at Petrova Park had ever verbally acknowledged Caroline's blood ties to the Petrova family.

"Well, she is your grandmother," Mrs. Sommers declared. "We've all danced around the issue long enough. It's a crime the way Camille and Elena are treated like daughters of the house, and you, the earl's true blood, must sweep and serve like a maid!"

The three housemaids nodded in agreement. "Just once," Mrs. Sommers said, "for just one night, you will be the belle of the ball." With a smile on her face, she slowly turned Caroline around until she was facing the mirror.

Caroline's breath caught. "Is that me?"

Mrs. Sommers nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You look lovely, dearling," she whispered.

Caroline's hand moved slowly up to her hair. "Don't muss it!" one of the maids yelped.

"I won't," Caroline promised, her smile wobbling a bit as she fought back a tear. A touch of shimmery powder had been sprinkled onto her hair, so that she sparkled like a fairy princess. Her dark blond curls had been swept atop her head in a loose topknot, with one thick lock allowed to slide down the length of her neck. And her eyes, normally moss green, shone like emeralds.

Although Caroline suspected that might have had more to do with her unshed tears than anything else.

"Here is your mask," Mrs. Sommers said briskly. It was a demi-mask, the sort that tied at the back so that Caroline would not have to use one of her hands to hold it up. "Now all we need are shoes."

Caroline glanced ruefully at her serviceable and ugly work shoes that sat in the corner. "I have nothing suitable for such finery, I'm afraid."

The housemaid who had rouged Caroline's lips held up a pair of white slippers. "From Camille's closet," she said. Caroline slid her right foot into one of the slippers and just as quickly slid it back out. "It's much too big," she said, glancing up at Mrs. Sommers. "I'll never be able to walk in them."

Mrs. Sommers turned to the maid. "Fetch a pair from Elena's closet."

"Hers are even bigger," Caroline said. "I know. I've cleaned enough scuff marks from them."

Mrs. Sommers let out a long sigh. "There's nothing for it, then. We shall have to raid Carol's collection."

Caroline shuddered. The thought of walking anywhere in Carol's shoes was somewhat creepy. But it was either that or go without, and she didn't think that bare feet would be acceptable at a fancy London masquerade.

A few minutes later the maid returned with a pair of white satin slippers, stitched in silver and adorned with exquisite faux-diamond rosettes.

Caroline was still apprehensive about wearing Carol's shoes, but she slipped one of her feet in, anyway. It fit perfectly.

"And they match, too," one of the maids said, pointing to the silver stitching. "As if they were made for the dress."

"We don't have time for admiring shoes," Mrs. Jenna Sommers suddenly said. "Now listen to these instructions very carefully. The coachman has returned from taking the countess and her girls, and he will take you to Mikaelsons House. But he has to be waiting outside when they wish to depart, which means you must leave by midnight and not a second later. Do you understand?"

Caroline nodded and looked at the clock on the wall. It was a bit after nine, which meant she'd have more than two hours at the masquerade. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh, thank you so much."

Mrs. Sommers dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "You just have a good time, dearling. That's all the thanks I need."

Caroline looked again at the clock. Two hours.

Two hours that she'd have to make last a lifetime.

... tu be continue...

* * *

AN: awww do you like it? REVIEW! =) beautiful isn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**; So here chapter 2, =) I love this story is based in my favorite book: te doy mi corazón by J.Q.

.

* * *

**Behind the Masquerade**

Chapter 2

_The Mikaelsons are truly a unique family. Surely there cannot be anyone in London who does not know that they  
will die for each other, or that they are famously named for their Viking names: E  
lijah, Niklaus, Kol, Rebekah, Alvi, Líf, Henryc and Margrét._

_Imaging the late viscount with nine children? Perhaps it is best they stopped at eight._

_LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 2 JUNE 1815_

Niklaus Mikaelson was the second of eight children, but sometimes it felt more like a hundred.

This ball his mother had insisted upon hosting was supposed to be a masquerade, and Niklaus had dutifully donned a black demi-mask, but everyone knew who he was. Or rather, they all almost knew.

"A Mikaelson!" they would exclaim, clapping their hands together with glee.

"You must be a Mikaelson!"

"A Mikaelson! I can spot a Mikaelson anywhere."

Niklaus was a Mikaelson , and while there was no family to which he'd rather belong, he sometimes wished he were considered a little less a Mikaelson and a little more himself.

Just then, a woman of somewhat indeterminate age dressed as a shepherdess sauntered over. "A Mikaelson!" she trilled. "I'd recognize that chestnut hair anywhere. Which are you? No, don't say. Let me guess. You're not the viscount, because I just saw him. You must be Number Two or Number Three."

Niklaus eyed her coolly.

"Which one? Number Two or Number Three?" "Two," he bit off.

She clapped her hands together. "That's what I thought! Oh, I must find Grams. I told her you were Number Two—"

Niklaus, he nearly growled.

"—but she said, no, he's the younger one, but I—"

Niklaus suddenly had to get away. It was either that or kill the twittering ninnyhammer, and with so many witnesses, he didn't think he could get away with it. "If you'll excuse me," he said smoothly. "I see someone with whom I must speak."

It was a lie, but he didn't much care. With a curt nod toward the overage shepherdess, he made a beeline toward the ballroom's side door, eager to escape the throng and sneak into his brother's study, where he might find some blessed peace and quiet and perhaps a glass of fine brandy.

"Niklaus!"

Damn. He'd nearly made a clean escape. He looked up to see his mother hurrying toward him. She was dressed in some sort of Quenn Elizabethan costume. He supposed she was meant to be a character in one of Shakespeare's plays, but for the life of him, he had no idea which.

"What can I do for you, Mother?" he asked. "And don't say 'Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.' Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process."

"I wasn't going to ask anything of the sort," Esther replied. "I was going to ask you to dance with Emely Bennet."

"Have mercy, Mother," he moaned. "She's even worse."

"I'm not asking you to marry the chit," she said. "Just dance with her."

Niklaus fought a groan. Emely Bennet, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he'd seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. "I'll tell you what," he wheedled. "I'll dance with Bonnie Bennet if you keep Emely at bay."

"That'll do," his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Niklaus with the sinking sensation that she'd wanted him to dance with Bonnie all along.

"She's over there by the lemonade table," Esther said, "dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing. The color is good for her, but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume, I can't imagine."

"You obviously haven't seen the mermaid," Niklaus murmured.

She swatted him lightly on the arm. "No poking fun at the guests."

"But they make it so easy."

She shot him a look of warning before saying, "I'm off to find your sister." "Which one?"

"One of the ones who isn't married," Esther said pertly. "Viscount Donovan might be interested in that Scottish girl, but they aren't betrothed yet."

Niklaus silently wished Donovan luck. The poor bloke was going to need it.

"And thank you for dancing with Bonnie," Esther said pointedly.

He gave her a rather ironic half smile. They both knew that her words were meant as a reminder, not as thanks.

His arms crossed in a somewhat forbidding stance, he watched his mother depart before drawing a long breath and turning to make his way to the lemonade table. He adored his mother to distraction, but she did tend to err on the side of meddlesome when it came to the social lives of her children. And if there was one thing that bothered her even more than Niklaus's unmarried state, it was the sight of a young girl's glum face when no one asked her to dance. As a result, Niklaus spent a lot of time on the ballroom floor, sometimes with girls she wanted him to marry, but more often with the overlooked wallflowers.

Of the two, he rather thought he preferred the wallflowers. The popular girls tended to be shallow and, to be frank, just a little bit dull.

His mother had always had a particular soft spot for Bonnie Bennet, who was on her... Niklaus frowned. On her third season? It must be her third. And with no marriage prospects in sight. Ah, well. He might as well do his duty. Bonnie was a nice enough girl, with a decent wit and personality. Someday she'd find herself a husband. It wouldn't be him, of course, and in all honesty it probably wouldn't be anyone he even knew, but surely she'd find someone.

With a sigh, Niklaus started to make his way toward the lemonade table. He could practically taste that brandy, smooth and mellow in his mouth, but he supposed that a glass of lemonade would tide him over for a few minutes.

"Miss Bennet!" he called out, trying not to shudder when three Miss Bennets turned around. With what he knew could not possibly be anything but the weakest of smiles, he added, "Er, Bonnie, that is."

From about ten feet away, Bonnie beamed at him, and Niklaus was reminded that he actually liked Bonnie Bennet. Truly, she wouldn't be considered so antidotal if she weren't always lumped together with her unfortunate sisters, who could easily make a grown man wish himself aboard a ship to Australia.

He'd nearly closed the gap between them when he heard a low rumble of whispers rippling across the ballroom behind him. He knew he ought to keep going and get this duty-dance over with, but God help him, his curiosity got the best of him and he turned around.

And found himself facing what had to be the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen.

He couldn't even tell if she was beautiful. Her hair was a rather ordinary dark blond, and with her mask tied securely around her head he couldn't even see half of her face.

But there was something about her that held him mesmerized. It was her smile, the shape of her eyes, the way she held herself and looked about the ballroom as if she'd never seen a more glorious sight than the silly members of the ton all dressed up in ridiculous costumes. Her beauty came from within. She shimmered. She glowed.

She was utterly radiant, and Niklaus suddenly realized that it was because she looked so damned happy. Happy to be where she was, happy to be who she was.

Happy in a way Niklaus could barely remember. His was a good life, it was true, maybe even a great life. He had seven wonderful siblings, a loving mother, and scores of friends. But this woman— This woman knew joy. And Niklaus had to know her.

Bonnie forgotten, he pushed his way through the crowd until he was but a few steps from her side. Three other gentlemen had beaten him to his destination and were presently showering her with flattery and praise. Niklaus watched her with interest; she did not react as any woman of his acquaintance might.

She did not act coy. Nor did she act as if she expected their compliments as her due. Nor was she shy, or tittering, or arch, or ironic, or any of those things one might expect from a woman.

She just smiled. Beamed, actually. Niklaus supposed that compliments were meant to bring a measure of happiness to the receiver, but never had he seen a woman react with such pure, unadulterated joy.

He stepped forward. He wanted that joy for himself.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but the lady has already promised this dance to me," he lied.

Her mask's eye-holes were cut a bit large, and he could see that her eyes widened considerably, then crinkled with amusement. He held out his hand to her, silently daring her to call his bluff.

But she just smiled at him, a wide, radiant grin that pierced his skin and traveled straight to his soul. She put her hand in his, and it was only then that Niklaus realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Have you permission to dance the waltz?" he murmured once they reached the dance floor.

She shook her head. "I do not dance." "You jest."

"I'm afraid I do not. The truth is—" She leaned forward and with a glimmer of a smile said, "I don't know how."

He looked at her with surprise. She moved with an inborn grace, and furthermore, what gently bred lady could reach her age without learning how to dance? "There is only one thing to do, then," he murmured. "I shall teach you."

Her eyes widened, then her lips parted, and a surprised laugh burst forth.

"What," he asked, trying to sound serious, "is so funny?"

She grinned at him—the sort of grin one expects from an old school chum, not a debutante at a ball. Still smiling, she said, "Even I know that one does not conduct dancing lessons at a ball."

"What does that mean, I wonder," he murmured," even you?" She said nothing.

"I shall have to take the upper hand, then," he said, "and force you to do my bidding." "Force me?"

But she was smiling as she said it, so he knew she took no offense, and he said, "It would be ungentlemanly of me to allow this sorrowful state of affairs to continue."

"Sorrowful, you say?"

He shrugged. "A beautiful lady who cannot dance. It seems a crime against nature." "If I allow you to teach me ..."

"When you allow me to teach you."

"If I allow you to teach me, where shall you conduct the lesson?"

Niklaus lifted his chin and scanned the room. It wasn't difficult to see over the heads of most of the partygoers; at an inch above six feet, he was one of the tallest men in the room. "We shall have to retire to the terrace," he said finally.

"The terrace?" she echoed. "Won't it be terribly crowded?

It's a warm night, after all." He leaned forward. "Not the private terrace."

"The private terrace, you say?" she asked, amusement in her voice. "And how, pray tell, would you know of a private terrace?"

Niklaus stared at her in shock. Could she possibly not know who he was? It wasn't that he held such a high opinion of himself that he expected all of London to be aware of his identity. It was just that he was a Mikaelson, and if a person met one Mikaelson, that generally meant he could recognize another. And as there was no one in London who had not crossed paths with one Mikaelson or another, Niklaus was generally recognized everywhere. Even, he thought ruefully, when that recognition was simply as "Number Two."

"You did not answer my question," his mystery lady reminded him.

"About the private terrace?" Niklaus raised her hand to his lips and kissed the fine silk of her glove. "Let us just say that I have my ways."

She appeared undecided, and so he tugged at her fingers, pulling her closer—only by an inch, but somehow it seemed she was only a kiss away. "Come," he said. "Dance with me."

She took a step forward, and he knew his life had been changed forever.

Caroline hadn't seen him when she'd first walked into the room, but she'd felt magic in the air, and when he'd appeared before her, like some charming prince from a children's tale, she somehow knew that he was the reason she'd stolen into the ball.

He was tall, and what she could see of his face was very handsome, with lips that hinted of irony and smiles, and skin that was just barely touched by the beginnings of a beard. His hair was a dark blonde, and the flickering candlelight lent it a faint reddish cast.

People seemed to know who he was, as well. Caroline noticed that when he moved, the other partygoers stepped out of his path. And when he'd lied so brazenly and claimed her for a dance, the other men had deferred and stepped away.

He was handsome and he was strong, and for this one night, he was hers.

When the clock struck midnight, she'd be back to her life of drudgery, of mending and washing, and attending to Carol's every wish. Was she so wrong to want this one heady night of magic and love?

She felt like a princess—a reckless princess—and so when he asked her to dance, she put her hand in his. And even though she knew that this entire evening was a lie, that she was a nobleman's bastard and a countess's maid, that her dress was borrowed and her shoes practically stolen—none of that seemed to matter as their fingers twined.

For a few hours, at least, Caroline could pretend that this gentleman could be her gentleman, and that from this moment on, her life would be changed forever.

It was nothing but a dream, but it had been so terribly long since she'd let herself dream.

Banishing all caution, she allowed him to lead her out of the ballroom. He walked quickly, even as he wove through the pulsing crowd, and she found herself laughing as she tripped along after him.

"Why is it," he said, halting for a moment when they reached the hall outside the ballroom, "that you always seem to be laughing at me?"

She laughed again; she couldn't help it. "I'm happy," she said with a helpless shrug. "I'm just so happy to be here."

"And why is that? A ball such as this must be routine for one such as yourself."

Caroline grinned. If he thought she was a member of the ton, an alumna of dozens of balls and parties, then she must be playing her role to perfection.

He touched the corner of her mouth. "You keep smiling," he murmured.

"I like to smile."

His hand found her waist, and he pulled her toward him. The distance between their bodies remained respectable, but the increasing nearness robbed her of breath.

"I like to watch you smile," he said. His words were low and seductive, but there was something oddly hoarse about his voice, and Caroline could almost let herself believe that he really meant it, that she wasn't merely that evening's conquest.

But before she could respond, an accusing voice from down the hall suddenly called out, "There you are!"

Caroline's stomach lurched well into her throat. She'd been found out. She'd be thrown into the street, and tomorrow probably into jail for stealing Carol's shoes, and—

And the man who'd called out had reached her side and was saying to her mysterious gentleman, "Mother has been looking all over for you. You weaseled out of your dance with Bonnie, and I had to take your place."

"So sorry," her gentleman murmured.

That didn't seem to be enough of an apology for the newcomer, because he scowled mightily as he said, "If you flee the party and leave me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge to my dying day."

"A chance I'm willing to take," her gentleman said.

"Well, I covered up for you with Bonnie," the other man grumbled. "You're just lucky that I happened to be standing by. The poor girl's heart looked broken when you turned away."

Caroline's gentleman had the grace to blush. "Some things are unavoidable, I'm afraid."

Caroline looked from one man to the other. Even under their demi-masks, it was more than obvious that they were brothers, and she realized in a blinding flash that they must be the Mikaelsons brothers, and this must be their house, and—

Oh, good Lord, had she made a total and utter fool of herself by asking him how he knew of a private terrace?

But which brother was he? Niklaus. He had to be Niklaus. Caroline sent a silent thank-you to Lady Whistledown, who'd once written a column completely devoted to the task of telling the Mikaelson siblings apart. Niklaus, she recalled, had been singled out as the tallest and the only dark blonde boy.

The man who made her heart flip in triple time stood a good inch above his brother—

—who Caroline suddenly realized was looking at her quite intently.

"I see why you departed," Kol said (for he must be Kol; he certainly wasn't Henryc, who was only fourteen, and Elijah was married, so he wouldn't care if Niklaus fled the party and left him to fend off the debutantes by himself.) He looked at Niklaus with a sly expression. "Might I request an introduction?"

Niklaus raised a brow. "You can try your best, but I doubt you'll meet with success. I haven't learned her name yet myself."

"You haven't asked," Caroline could not help pointing out.

"And would you tell me if I did?"

"I'd tell you something," she returned.

"But not the truth."

She shook her head. "This isn't a night for truth."

"My favorite kind of night," Kol said in a jaunty voice.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Niklaus asked. Kol shook his head.

"I'm sure Mother would prefer that I be in the ballroom, but it's not exactly a requirement."

"I require it," Niklaus returned. Caroline felt a giggle bubbling in her throat.

"Very well," Kol sighed. "I shall take myself off." "Excellent," Niklaus said.

"All alone, to face the ravenous wolves..." "Wolves?" Caroline queried.

"Eligible young ladies," Kol clarified. "A pack of ravenous wolves, the lot of them. Present company excluded, of course."

Caroline thought it best not to point out that she was not an "eligible young lady" at all.

"My mother—" Kol began.

Niklaus groaned.

"—would like nothing better than to see my dear elder brother married off." He paused and pondered his words. "Except, perhaps, to see me married off."

"If only to get you out of the house," Niklaus said dryly.

This time Caroline did giggle.

"But then again, he's considerably more ancient," Kol continued, "so perhaps we should send him to the gallows— er, altar first."

"Do you have a point?' Niklaus growled.

"None whatsoever," Kol admitted. "But then again, I rarely do." Niklaus turned to Caroline. "He speaks the truth."

"So then," Kol said to Caroline with a grand flourish of his arm, "will you take pity on my poor, long-suffering mother and chase my dear brother up the aisle?"

"Well, he hasn't asked," Caroline said, trying to join the humor of the moment.

"How much have you had to drink?" Niklaus grumbled.

"Me?" Caroline queried.

"Him."

"Nothing at all," Kol said jovially, "but I'm thinking quite seriously of remedying that. In fact, it might be the only thing that will make this eve bearable."

"If the procurement of drink removes you from my presence," Niklaus said, "then it will certainly be the only thing that will make my night bearable as well."

Kol grinned, gave a jaunty salute, and was gone. "It's nice to see two siblings who love each other so well," Caroline murmured.

Niklaus, who had been staring somewhat menacingly at the doorway through which his brother had just disappeared, snapped his attention back to her. "You call that love?"

Caroline thought of Camille and Elena, who were forever sniping at each other, and not in jest. "I do," she said firmly. "It's obvious you would lay your life down for him. And vice versa."

"I suppose you're right." Niklaus let out a beleaguered sigh, then ruined the effect by smiling. "Much as it pains me to admit it." He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking terribly sophisticated and urbane. "So tell me," he said, "have you any siblings?"

Caroline pondered that question for a moment, then gave a decisive, "No."

One of his brows rose into a curiously arrogant arch. He cocked his head very slightly to the side as he said, "I find myself rather curious as to why it took you so long to determine the answer to that question. One would think the answer would be an easy one to reach."

Caroline looked away for a moment, not wanting him to see the pain that she knew must show in her eyes. She had always wanted a family. In fact, there was nothing in life she had ever wanted more. Her father had never recognized her as his daughter, even in private, and her mother had died at her birth. Carol treated her like the plague, and Camille and Elena had certainly never been sisters to her. Elena had occasionally been a friend, but even she spent most of the day asking Caroline to mend her dress, or style her hair, or polish her shoes ...

And in all truth, even though Elena asked rather than ordered, as her sister and mother did, Caroline didn't exactly have the option of saying no. "I am an only child," Caroline finally said.

"And that is all you're going to say on the subject," Niklaus murmured.

"And that is all I'm going to say on the subject," she agreed.

"Very well." He smiled, a lazy masculine sort of smile. "What, then, am I permitted to ask you?" "Nothing, really."

"Nothing at all?"

"I suppose I might be induced to tell you that my favorite color is green, but beyond that I shall leave you with no clues to my identity."

"Why so many secrets?"

"If I answered that," Caroline said with an enigmatic smile, truly warming to her role as a mysterious stranger, "then that would be the end of my secrets, wouldn't it?"

He leaned forward ever so slightly. "You could always develop new secrets."

Caroline backed up a step. His gaze had grown hot, and she had heard enough talk in the servants' quarters to know what that meant. Thrilling as that was, she was not quite as daring as she pretended to be. "This entire night," she said, "is secret enough."

"Then ask me a question," he said. "I have no secrets."

Her eyes widened. "None? Truly? Doesn't everyone have secrets?" "Not I. My life is hopelessly banal."

"That I find difficult to believe."

"It's true," he said with a shrug. "I've never seduced an innocent, or even a married lady, I have no gambling debts, and my parents were completely faithful to one another."

Meaning he wasn't a bastard. Somehow the thought brought an ache to Caroline's throat. Not, of course, because he was legitimate, but rather because she knew he would never pursue her—at least not in an honorable fashion—if he knew that she wasn't.

"You haven't asked me a question," he reminded her.

Caroline blinked in surprise. She hadn't thought he'd been serious. "A-all right," she half stammered, caught off guard. "What, then, is your favorite color?"

He grinned. "You're going to waste your question on that?" "I only get one question?"

"More than fair, considering you're granting me none." Niklaus leaned forward, his dark grey eyes glinting. "And the answer is blue."

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoed.

"Yes, why? Is it because of the ocean? Or the sky? Or perhaps just because you like it?"

Niklaus eyed her curiously. It seemed such an odd question—why his favorite color was blue. Everyone else would have taken blue for an answer and left it at that. But this woman—whose name he still didn't even know—went deeper, beyond the whats and into the whys. "Are you a painter?" he queried.

She shook her head. "Just curious." "Why is your favorite color green?"

She sighed, and her eyes grew nostalgic. "The grass, I suppose, and maybe the leaves. But mostly the grass. The way it feels when one runs barefoot in the summer. The smell of it after the gardeners have gone through with their scythes and trimmed it even."

"What does the feel and smell of grass have to do with the color?"

"Nothing, I suppose. And maybe everything. I used to live in the country, you see..." She caught herself. She hadn't meant to tell him even that much, but there didn't seem to be harm in his knowing such an innocent fact.

"And you were happier there?" he asked quietly. She nodded, a faint rush of awareness shivering across her skin. Lady Whistledown must never have had a conversation with Niklaus Mikaelson beyond the superficial, because she'd never written that he was quite the most perceptive man in London. When he looked into her eyes, Caroline had the oddest sense that he could see straight into her soul. "You must enjoy walking in the park, then," he said.

"Yes," Caroline lied. She never had time to go to the park. Carol didn't even give her a day off like the other servants received.

"We shall have to take a stroll together," Niklaus said.

Caroline avoided a reply by reminding him, "You never did tell me why your favorite color is blue."

His head cocked slightly to the side, and his eyes narrowed just enough so that Caroline knew that he had noticed her evasion. But he simply said, "I don't know. Perhaps, like you, I'm reminded of something I miss. There is a lake at Aubrey Hall—that is where I grew up, in Kent—but the water always seemed more gray than blue."

"It probably reflects the sky," Caroline commented.

"Which is, more often than not, more gray than blue," Niklaus said with a laugh. "Perhaps that is what I miss— blue skies and sunshine."

"If it weren't raining," Caroline said with a smile, "this wouldn't be England."

"I went to Italy once," Niklaus said. "The sun shone constantly."

"It sounds like heaven."

"You'd think," he said. "But I found myself missing the rain."

"I can't believe it," she said with a laugh. "I feel like I spend half my life staring out the window and grumbling at the rain."

"If it were gone, you'd Miss it."

Caroline grew pensive. Were there things in her life she'd miss if they were gone? She wouldn't miss Carol, that was for certain, and she wouldn't miss Camille. She'd probably miss Elena, and she'd definitely miss the way the sun shone through the window in her attic room in the mornings. She'd miss the way the servants laughed and joked and occasionally included her in their fun, even though they all knew she was the late earl's bastard.

But she wasn't going to miss these things—she wouldn't even have the opportunity to miss them— because she wasn't going anywhere. After this evening—this one amazing, wonderful, magical evening—it would be back to life as usual.

She supposed that if she were stronger, braver, she'd have left Petrova House years ago. But would that have really made much difference? She might not like living with Carol, but she wasn't likely to improve her lot in life by leaving. She might have liked to have been a governess, and she was certainly well qualified for the position, but jobs were scarce for those without references, and Carol certainly wasn't going to give her one.

"You're very quiet," Niklaus said softly.

"I was just thinking." "About?"

"About what I'd miss—and what I wouldn't miss— should my life drastically change." His eyes grew intense.

"And do you expect it to drastically change?"

She shook her head and tried to keep the sadness out of her voice when she answered,

"No." His voice grew so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Do you want it to change?"

"Yes," she sighed, before she could stop herself. "Oh,yes."

He took her hands and brought them to his lips, gently kissing each one in turn. "Then we shall begin right now," he vowed. "And tomorrow you shall be transformed."

'Tonight I am transformed," she whispered. "Tomorrow I shall disappear."

Niklaus drew her close and dropped the softest, most fleeting of kisses onto her brow. "Then we must pack a lifetime into this very night."

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUE =)

* * *

**AN:** Beautiful right? ** REVIEW!


End file.
